


A Helping Hand

by amirawrites



Category: Bellamy Blake - Fandom, Bellarke - Fandom, Clarke Griffin - Fandom, The 100, bellamy x clarke - Fandom
Genre: F/M, bellarke AU, bellarke modern au, bellarke roommates au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 06:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4128876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amirawrites/pseuds/amirawrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellarke!Roommates Modern AU. Bellamy's favorite mug and sweatshirt have gone missing and he knows Clarke is to blame, despite her adamant refusals to admit fault. But it's been three weeks and Bellamy is determined to get his stuff back. So, he sneaks into her room to do some digging and finds more than he was looking for...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt requested by clarkeslight on tumblr for 30. "It's not what it looks like..."

“I’ll be back later, Bellamy! Bye!”

Bellamy listens from the couch as the door shuts behind Clarke. Once she’s gone, he pushes himself upwards and makes his way over to the kitchen, craving some tea. He opens the mug cabinet and finds himself disappointed once again. His favorite mug, gifted to him by Octavia, was still nowhere to be found. He lets out a frustrated sigh and closes the cabinet.

Bellamy stands still for a moment, thinking, before striding down the hallway. Clarke had sworn up and down that she wasn’t to blame for his things going missing, but Bellamy had searched this entire apartment, save for one room, without any luck.

He pauses in front of the door to Clarke’s room before gently nudging it with his foot. The door lazily falls open, revealing Clarke’s plain bedroom, walls bare except for a poster of Van Gogh’s _Starry Night_ hung above her bed.

And there it is, his mug with a painting of Octavia the Younger, Augustus’s sister, sat on Clarke’s bedside table.

Bellamy steps into the room, kneeling down to survey his mug. Paint and charcoal are smudged all over the sides of it and it’s become a holder for colored pencils. He felt deeply offended that Clarke would carelessly ruin something of his like this.

When he stands back up, something on Clarke’s bed catches his gaze. Her sketchbook is spread open on top of her bed. He leans down to get a closer look and feels a jolt inside of him when he recognizes the sketch on the page.

It’s him. His own eyes are staring back at him from the page of the sketchbook. Cautiously, Bellamy picks the sketchbook up to get a closer look. Sketchbook Bellamy was shirtless, and Clarke had drawn him generously. The details were so painstakingly small, freckles dotted with almost pinpoint accuracy. It must have taken her ages.

The door to the apartment opens, jerking Bellamy to attention. Footsteps are hurrying nearer to him and he feels panic start up. No way out of this.

“Bellamy Blake!”

Bellamy turns to see Clarke standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. He grimaces at her when he meets her fiery gaze.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She glowers at him.

“Looking for my mug!” he bites back, pointing defiantly at her bedside table. “And I found it!” He turns to place her sketchbook back on her bed and spots his favorite sweatshirt.

“Aha!” he barks. He reaches down to grab it. “I knew it was you!” As he yanks it upwards, something flings out from in between the folds, flying off of the bed and clattering onto the floor.

Both Bellamy and Clarke hold their breath as it rolls across the floor, tapping against Clarke’s feet and skidding to a stop.

There’s a moment of silence before Clarke squeezes out, “Okay, I swear, **_it’s_ not _what it looks like…_** ”

“Is that a vibrator?”

Clarke’s cheeks flush with deep pink and she quickly dips down to scoop the object up. “Alright, maybe it’s exactly what it looks like.” She shoves Bellamy away from her bed as she yanks a drawer open, throwing the vibrator into it before slamming it closed.

Bellamy, never one to pass up a chance to annoy Clarke, is beaming. “Is there a certain reason that was hiding under a shirtless sketch of me which was on top of my sweatshirt?”

Clarke looks livid. “Is there a reason _you’re in my room_?!” Her words hiss out between her teeth and, if it wasn’t for how hilarious this entire situation was, Bellamy might’ve actually been scared. But it’s impossible to take Clarke seriously with that blush splashed across her face.

“Yes, there was. You took my stuff,” Bellamy replies.

Clarke glares at him for a moment. “Well, I needed it!”

“You needed it?”

“Yes!” Clarke snaps. “It’s easier to sketch you if I can picture you, so I look at the mug and the sweatshirt and it’s easy to see you in my head.”

“Right,” Bellamy muses, “you needed to picture me for _sketching_.” He glances behind her, at the bedside table, with an exaggerated raise of his eyebrows.

“Bellamy Blake you have three seconds to get out of my room before I kill you with your own mug.”

Bellamy isn’t sure how Clarke would manage the feat of clubbing him to death with a mug, and half wants to hang around to see her try, but he decides it would be best for him to leave. Before he does, however, he reaches behind her for his mug. He has to lean close to reach it, bringing their faces close enough that he can feel the heat radiating off of her cheeks.

He carefully dumps the colored pencils out of the mug, staring into her eyes the whole time. Then, he pecks his lips against her red cheek, unable to resist. She blinks, shocked, as he pulls away, a smirk spread across his face.

“Ya know, if you wanted I could always model for you instead of you having to just imagine me,” he says. “I’m always willing to lend a _helping hand_ to a girl in need.” He shoots her a wink, wagging his eyebrows.

“ _Get out_!” Clarke yells and Bellamy runs out of her room, laughing as she slams the door shut behind him.


End file.
